SMRT
Sigh.
Another relationship down the toilet.
And why? Did I display an appalling act of drunkenness that sent my mature, older boyfriend running for the hills? Did I cheat with an 18 year old? Did I go on and on and on about how awesome New York City is and how I am trying to move there as soon as possible causing him to bash me over the head out of complete boredom for a topic I have talked about non-stop for years?
All of these things are possible and well within the scope of things I have done in past relationships. And yet this time I did none of them.
No. Instead, I received the following email after not hearing from my boyfriend for a week by way of kiss-off:
Honestly -
You are likely the smartest person I’ve ever dated. At least, if there were smarter, it wasn’t apparent.
I learned true ambivalence each time we got deep into a subject; enthralled at being able to have such a discussion, scared that I would never be able to hold my own in it.
That’s the truth. And yes, it is my own ego causing this problem within me. But you deserve to know.
So apparently I am un-dateable because I am too smart. If anyone would like to let me know where I can get a cheap lobotomy, come find me. I’ll be the nerd in the corner discussing the merits of Boethian philosophy as applied to post-modern theory. Or the person sticking an ice-pick up her nose.
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I fear you might be too smart for this site. Judging by your ability with computers I might have to ban you if you move from direct connecting my alcoholic beverages to stealing my brain thoughts, or what’s left of it.